


Mocking

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, Kneeling, M/M, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Self Confidence Issues, mentions of caning, mentions of knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kinkmeme prompt. Enjolras being punished for calling Grantaire beautiful. Grantaire thinks Enjolras is mocking him. Enjolras just appreciates his Dom's unconventional appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mocking

Grantaire’s lips trail up Enjolras’ neck, soft little kisses. He catches Enjolras’ earlobe in his teeth and bites sharply, gratified by the quiet mewl that escapes Enjolras’ lips.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Grantaire murmurs into his ear, and Enjolras turns to look at him.

Enjolras is exquisite like this, blue eyes wide and glazed over with pleasure, his mouth red with kissing and hanging ever so slightly open, his pale cheeks flushed pink with want. His eyes meet Grantaire’s and he smiles. “I’m thinking… Sir, you’re so beautiful.”

Grantaire feels his hands start to tremble and his stomach sink. It’s the physical reaction that gets to him first, before he can even register what’s happening, before his mind can frame the awful fact that Enjolras, his love, his submissive, is using this intimate moment to mock him. Enjolras has always been a mouthy sub, and Grantaire wouldn’t want him any different. He likes Enjolras pushing back, teasing, making sure Grantaire knows what he wants… but this is different. This is awful. He pulls away from Enjolras, trying to hide how upset he is. He wants to tell Enjolras to leave, wants to curl up alone with a drink and maybe have a bit of a cry. That’s not fair, though. Enjolras is in subspace already, Grantaire can’t let him leave like this. And it means one thing when Enjolras teases him during a scene (though he’s never been as cruel as this before).

Enjolras wants to be punished.

Grantaire promised him long ago that he would never raise a hand to Enjolras in anger, and he holds himself to that promise. It isn’t quite anger he’s feeling now, but it’s too close. He needs time. “Go kneel in the corner,” he says, managing to keep his voice low and calm and almost normal. It’s eight-fifteen. Ten minutes should do it, give time for Enjolras to settle into a submissive mindset and for Grantaire to calm his own feelings.

Enjolras looks confused, but he goes. He settles in comfortably, resting on his heels with his hands on his thighs.

“No. Up,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras pushes himself up onto just his knees, his hands behind his head. “Don’t move.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, and his voice is so musical and pretty, like every other fucking thing about Enjolras, and why is Enjolras bothering to mock him? Because he could just as easily have simply found someone else, someone worthy of him. There’s no one quite like Enjolras, no one as beautiful or good, but Enjolras could have found someone who at least isn’t ugly as Grantaire is. Who wouldn’t profane his perfect skin with rough hands and cruel touches, who could… who could give Enjolras what he needs without all this panic.

Well, Grantaire will do that, at least.

He lets Enjolras wait for him while he plans. He knows the kneeling position he’s ordered Enjolras into is uncomfortable, will grow painful quickly. Usually when he’s having Enjolras kneel for an extended period of time he’s sure to give him a pillow or mattress, and lets him kneel down instead of up. 

But usually Enjolras’ backtalk doesn’t extend to jabbing at Grantaire’s most sensitive secrets. Grantaire doesn’t like to talk about how insecure he is about his appearance. It’s embarassing that he’s so prepossessed with the fact that he’s ugly, with his own lumpy face and broken skin and flabby stomach and generally unattractive looks. He ought to be okay with the way he looks, probably. Enjolras is always saying social standards of beauty are constructed, or some shit, and usually generally refuses to explain why he, who basically looks like an angel fallen directly from heaven, has any interest in Grantaire, who looks like a troll that’s climbed his way up from hell.

He wishes he could ask Enjolras what he wants. It doesn’t seem like his hand or even the belt is going to be enough. 

He thinks suddenly of his pocketknife. It would be satisfying, he thinks, to use that on Enjolras. To mark up his pretty skin. Maybe even to press down enough to make him bleed, let his favorite color trail down his pale back, leave a mark, a scar, an R carved into Enjolras, so that when Enjolras finally comes to his senses and realizes Grantaire was never good enough for him Grantaire will still have that, will always have a little piece of himself marked on Enjolras’ beautiful body.

Almost as he has the thought, though, Grantaire is disgusted with himself. This is why he’ll never deserve Enjolras, because the second he has something good in his life—the second he has the beautiful man he spent dreaming of on his knees, eager and obedient—he thinks of hurting him and worse. Worse, tying him to Grantaire, trying to keep him down. Limiting the wonderful things Enjolras deserves.

So much better than Grantaire. He deserves a dom he could respect, not one he would mock. 

Maybe he’ll get the cane. Make Enjolras ask him for every stroke, so he’s sure he doesn’t go too far. Make him beg, make him cry. Hurt him, yes, Grantaire wants to hurt him, wants to make sure he feels all the pain he needs. That could leave marks, too, temporary ones. They would hurt, would blemish his beautiful skin for a while, but not ruin him forever. That would be better.

Yet he’s worried he’s still too angry. He still wants to make Enjolras suffer, and that isn’t right. He can’t let a shred of that feeling still be in him when he goes to punish his Enjolras, his love, as much as Enjolras clearly needs.

This isn’t getting better. Grantaire isn’t relaxing, isn’t going to be able to punish Enjolras… at least, isn’t going to be able to beat him. 

He can leave Enjolras kneeling there, though. For a while. Grantaire suddenly realizes he’s been lost in thought for a while, he doesn’t know how long. Maybe ten minutes. Which is a long time to kneel on a hardwood floor with your hands behind your head. Maybe even longer. 

He glances towards the corner. Enjolras’ arms are trembling already, and his shoulders shaking, and—

Oh, God, he’s crying.

Grantaire checks his watch. It’s eight fifty-five. Enjolras has been kneeling in the corner for almost an hour. Grantaire rushes to him, immediately, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Enjolras? Will you look at me?”

Enjolras turns his head slightly. His eyes are puffy and red from trying not to cry. 

Grantaire cups Enjolras’ chin, making him meet his eyes. Enjolras tries to squeeze his eyes shut. “Look at me,” Grantaire says firmly.

“Sorry, sir,” Enjolras whispers, meeting his eyes.

“Let’s get you up off your knees. C’mere,” Grantaire says, scooping Enjolras practically into his arms and all but carrying him onto the couch. He lets Enjolras sit on his lap. He’s still hurt at his earlier words, but nothing matters as much as taking care of his boy. He strokes Enjolras’ back gently for a moment until he can find the words.

It’s actually Enjolras who speaks first. “May I ask a question, sir?”

“Of course.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Grantaire says at once, and it’s true. “I’m hurt, and disappointed. Not angry. And I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to leave you for that long.”

“W-why are y-“ Enjolras lets out a sob that he can’t stifle, then immediately apologizes.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can cry if you need to. There’s no shame in it.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, and then breaks into open tears. Grantaire feels sick. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, but he’s clearly gone too far. Enjolras usually only cries at the very end of a harsh punishment. 

“Hush, love, it’s all right,” Grantaire murmurs gently. “It’s all right, I’m sorry, I’m here.”

“W-will you just- sir, please-“

“Tell me what you need. I promise, I will do everything I can to give it to you.”

“Please just tell me what I did wrong,” Enjolras says, and his voice, usually so powerful and strong, is timid and tiny and broken. 

“Do you not know?” Grantaire asks.

“No. I don’t. S-sorry.”

“I’m sorry, then. I shouldn’t punish you before I explained why.”

“Why?”

“It was… probably wrong. I was… upset. That you were mocking me.”

“Mocking you? Sir, what-“

“I know I’m not beautiful, okay, great,” Grantaire says, and shit, there’s so much bitterness in his voice, he shouldn’t be letting this leak out, shouldn’t be putting this on Enjolras when he’s clearly still in subspace, “but you don’t have to make fun of me for it. I get it, you like to be a bratty sub, that’s who you are and that’s great, I love every part of who you are, but… but that was cruel, and… I’m sorry I left you kneeling for so long, but I needed… I needed time, I needed…”

“Sir, I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to provoke you. If I needed punishment I would ask for it. Honestly.”

“So you were just… making fun of me? Christ, Enjolras, I’d put up with anything for you, but that’s just-“

“I wasn’t… I think you’re beautiful, Grantaire,” Enjolras says gently, and clearly, and calmly.

“Yeah, right.”

“I do. Maybe not conventionally beautiful, but you are the most attractive person in the world to me, and I apologize if I let you think I meant that anything less than utterly honestly when I said it.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire says, when he realizes Enjolras is telling the truth. “Fuck, Enjolras, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, R, we’ve been together a year and you still think I can’t mean it when I say you’re beautiful to me?”

“I made you kneel in the corner for practically an hour, you’re still shaking—“

“You didn’t make me,” Enjolras says calmly. “I went because you asked me to, but my legs work. I could have gotten up and walked away if I wanted to. I wish I had, instead of leaving you thinking this for forty-five minutes, thinking I didn’t mean what I said. Because I did. You’re so beautiful.”

“I thought… I thought awful things. Might have done them, too.”

“But you didn’t.” 

“I was angry. I promised I’d never punish you in anger.”

“And you didn’t.”

“But I almost did,” Grantaire says, bitter and furious with himself. “Can’t you see… But forget about that, what about you? Do your knees hurt?”

“No, sir. Just… a bit tired. And shaky. Don’t go anywhere?”

“Of course not. I’m here. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Enjolras leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Grantaire’s lips. “I promise, it is.”

“Even after I fucked everything up like I did tonight? Even if my stupid depression keeps getting in between us?”

“Even if it ruins every scene we ever try to do again. I will still be here. I’ll still be yours.”

“You are so much more than I deserve,” Grantaire says quietly.

“And you are so, so beautiful.” Enjolras gently touches Grantaire’s face, and Grantaire lets out a harsh, sharp laugh. Enjolras sighs, but he doesn’t say anything more.


End file.
